


no highway signs to guide

by nilyn (escherzo)



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Implied Underage, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-03
Updated: 2008-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/nilyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard and Mikey as modern Demolition Lovers. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no highway signs to guide

_and I would drive on to the end with you_

  
  
  
It starts like something Gerard read in a book once.  
  
Their house is burning. He and Mikey stand in front of it, listening to the cracking wood, the burning heat of the flames leaping out of the windows. It's a cold, hazy October day, and every part of him that's not facing the fire is freezing. Mikey clutches his hand, palm sweaty. There isn't anyone else. There's never going to be anyone else again.   
  


  
  
In the end, his parents were just in the wrong place in the wrong time. Accidentally witness to a crime family's murder and suddenly they became targets (disposable) themselves. And Gerard knew, absolutely, that if he were to sift through the charred remains of his home he would find their bodies. He and Mikey were supposed to be there too, but they were down by the grimy river that ran along the edge of town, sitting and talking, laughing while their parents burned.   
  
Now they have nowhere to go. All they have is the money in their pockets, the clothes on their backs, what little they can save from the wreckage, the car they take to the middle of town. If the 'family' (and how ironic,  _family_ ) were to find out that they were still alive, they would become simply more bones in the ashes.   
  
They have to leave.  
  


  
  
The first thing Gerard buys is a gun.  
  
He's standing in the shadows of an alleyway, talking with expansive gestures to an old man as Mikey waits in the car on the street, and he's either sick or grateful (or really a little of both) as he holds it in his hand for the first time. When Mikey takes the handgun, he runs his fingers over it with an almost morbid fascination, cradling it in the palm of his hand like a child. It's hard for Gerard to remember that Mikey is only  _fifteen_  when he is like this, all intent dark eyes and fire in his veins.   
  
"C’mon, Mikes," he murmurs, taking the gun out of Mikey's grasp and motioning for him to drive again. No matter how much Mikey (either of them) wants revenge, they're too young, too inexperienced to not be just shot down like birds from the sky, all fluttering and breaking of tiny wings.   
  
Mikey drives on.   
  


  
  
They drive for two days to get out of the city, pulling over and switching every three hours. It's cold outside and getting colder, the heat from their bodies fogging up the windows when they stop, wind biting. It's almost winter.   
  
Gerard hums along with every song on the radio, sings to some, and Mikey harmonizes, soft, a little nasal, and always, always a little flat.  
  


  
  
It takes them two weeks before they have to use the gun.  
  
Gerard’s intention was to use it for self-defence, in case they got into something they couldn’t talk their way out of. But he can’t deny the fact that they’re out of money—and gas. They have to keep on running, and it’s with this knowledge that he presses the gun into Mikey’s hand (as they discussed it in hushed whispers on the way, Mikey’s eyes lighting up dangerously, excited, insistent on being the one to do it, and when has Gerard been able to deny him anything?) and opens the door to the gas station.   
  
It’s late, late enough that they’re the only ones in there apart from the clerk at the counter, and he strides in with as much confidence as he can muster, but his hands are shaking.   
  
“Open up the register and give us the money,” Gerard says, low, an order. He balls his hands into fists and wills his body to stop shuddering at the thought of what he’s doing. Behind him, Mikey holds the gun straight out, scowling, jaw set. He looks years older than he is in this moment.   
  
The clerk freezes, swears, and  _god_ , he’s  _maybe_  a year older than Gerard. He’s quaking, too, and he pulls bills out of the register with erratic movements, hands moving in little jerks.   
  
“Here,” he says, “just… get  _out._ ”  
  
Gerard takes the money and tucks it into his coat pocket, grabbing a can of gas and two drinks while Mikey stands in the front of the store. He motions for Mikey to follow him, but Mikey is frozen to the spot, still holding the gun upright.  
  
“ _Mikey!_ ”   
  
And here the clerk sees his chance, and maybe it’s teenage arrogance or just plain stupidity that makes him try it, but he lunges forward and falls before Gerard can even process that he’s heard the gunshot. Mikey’s eyes are wide, riveted forward, and it’s like something in him is broken, hands still clutching the gun. Every inch of his body is shaking, even his teeth are chattering, and he can’t stop.  
  
Gerard is the only one who drives for the next three days.  
  


  
  
Mikey kisses him for the first time two days later. They’re in the parking lot of a rest station, eating lunch, and Gerard is poking Mikey in the arm with a Twizzler. Mikey leans forward, lips brushing against Gerard’s, and the tension that Gerard could see bottling up in him, like an over-wound toy, abruptly dissipates.   
  
Gerard tries not to think about what he’s doing as he presses closer, kissing soft but open-mouthed, and he makes a soft noise as Mikey’s tongue slides against his own.  
  
One of Mikey’s hands comes to clutch at the front of his t-shirt, and he thinks of Mikey’s hand clasped desperately around the gun that night, like it was a lifeline. Gerard holds Mikey closer at the thought, mouthing down the side of his neck and then down, down,  _down._  
  
If he can’t save Mikey, no one can.  
  


  
  
The next time they run out of money, Gerard takes the gun and starts to open the car door when Mikey catches his arm.  
  
“Gee, don’t. You can’t.” He reaches for it, tugging it out of Gerard’s hand easily, slipping it into his own. It looks like it belongs there and Gerard is suddenly, violently sick.   
  
He can’t watch as Mikey shoots, this time, but he holds Mikey afterwards, until the shaking stops.   
  


  
They travel for days at a time, now, until they’re so shaky that they can’t see straight and everything but the two of them seems too loud, too large, too frightening. Those are the times that they pull off into the rest stations and fall asleep tangled up in each other, lying in the back seat. Mikey rests his head in the crook of Gerard’s arm, like they’re children playing make-believe about a pair of outlaws and the real world is still soft and safe.  
  


  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“Of course you do, idiot, you’re my brother.”  
  
“No, I  _love you._ ”  
  
“I know.”  
  


  
  
Every time he has to shoot, Mikey hesitates a little less, until the only way Gerard can see it affects him at all is in the way his shoulder twitches right before he fires.  
  
It’s never gotten any easier for Gerard.  
  
And on some nights, when Gerard’s hips are pressing into his brother’s as he rocks forward, Mikey’s eyes wild and a touch dangerous, he wonders if Mikey isn’t so much conditioning himself to be able to take revenge on those that they’ve been running from as becoming them.  
  


  
  
They travel more carelessly these days, driving through areas full of people in broad daylight, sometimes walking around without the shadow of nightfall. It’s dangerous and Gerard knows that if they keep it up, they’re  _going_  to get caught. Not by the police--Mikey learned quickly how to cover his tracks, how to make sure that the cops never found quite what they needed. No, Gerard knows that Mikey’s seeking out the family that started the whole mess in the first place.  
  
As much as the thought of going down in a rain of bullets is romantic, in a macabre way, Gerard doesn’t  _want_  to find them.  
  


  
  
But of course, Mikey does.  
  


  
  
And so Gerard finds himself holding a gun for the first time since he bought that first one, so long ago. Mikey stands beside him, gun in hand, his fingers wrapped around Gerard’s wrist, making soothing circles. On the other side of the door standing in front of them, he explains, there are at least six of the people from the ‘family’ that they’ve been looking for.  
  
“If this doesn’t work…” Mikey begins, quietly, and it’s the first doubt Gerard’s heard in his voice in months.  
  
”Yeah?”  
  
“See you in hell.” Mikey kisses Gerard, lightly, and then pulls the door open.  
  


  
  
The neighbourhood wakes to the sounds of gunshots, steady like rain.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has accompanying art [here](http://thelemic.livejournal.com/8082.html#cutid4) and was originally posted on Livejournal.


End file.
